


You Better Choose Carefully

by handcversbruise



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Online Dating, Dick Pics Galore, Dirty Talk, Eleanor and Kendall are mentioned but they're not a big deal, Fluff, M/M, Masturbation, Non-Face to Face, Phone Sex, Pining Harry, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn Video, Porn with Feelings, Sexting, Skype Sex, Snapchat Sex, Sort of? - Freeform, Voyeurism, What's that? Yeah I wrote fluff, just like in real life, overusage of the word "snap" soz, technical infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-19
Updated: 2014-02-19
Packaged: 2018-01-09 09:17:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1144240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/handcversbruise/pseuds/handcversbruise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If anyone had tried to tell Harry that he’d be sexting Louis at 5:30 pm while he’s in LA and Louis is in the UK, well. He would have wanted to believe you.</p>
<p>Or the one where Harry's in LA during their break and Louis misses him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Better Choose Carefully

**Author's Note:**

  * For [loupiter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/loupiter/gifts).



> Call it a post Valentine's Day fic, or something. 
> 
> Thank you to my usual beta, for being wonderful as always. Dedicated to Louise who absolutely did not ask for this. My sincerest apologies. Title from "Dark Horse" by Katy Perry.
> 
> [Unfortunately not true, I own no one, know nothing, I just cry a lot.]

The first thing Harry thinks as he begrudgingly opens his eyes is that he needs to turn off sound notifications as soon as possible. He’s been trying to sleep for hours, tossing and turning in a lumpy hotel bed with a duvet that’s approximately a thousand times more itchy than any sweater he’s ever owned. Ever since he got back from his last meeting with Kendall Jenner, who’s prettier in person, but impossibly dull and borderline uncooperative in this fake relationship, he’s been exhausted in more ways than one. PR stunts take effort, just like relationships. Or something. It’s hard for him to remember why he agreed to go out with her anyway, especially during the holidays when all he wants to do is cook for his family, sleep in until noon every day, catch a few shows, buy some bananas, and text Louis nonstop, the usual.

  
He means texts his bandmates, his pals, his best friends. Not just Louis. Right. You’d think after three years, his crush would have faded away, but the gods are cruel and like to make fun of him, probably. So he’s stuck pining after Louis Tomlinson, member of One Direction, boyfriend of university student Eleanor Calder, for another holiday season. As if to jerk him out of his self reflective revelry, his phone buzzes again, that stupid notification sound haunting him.

  
The grin that forms on his lips when the screen lights up, showing one new Snapchat from Lou_blazeit - fucking ridiculous name for an even more ridiculous boy, Harry decides - is huge, more genuine than anything he’s posed for lately. He swipes his thumb across the screen and types in his passcode, unlocking his phone, waving away all thoughts of sleep. He opens the Snaps from Gemma, but doesn’t send anything in response, knowing she won’t be awake to reply. Curiosity gets the best of him when a new Snap from Louis pops up, not more than five minutes from the first, and his plan of playing it cool and not seeming desperate for once fails. He tried, honestly, he did.

  
Ten seconds is too little time for Harry to process the blurry photograph of topless Louis holding a milk carton, face scrunched up and tongue sticking out, white scribbles on the screen highlighting the caption "got milk?" He lets out a laugh reminiscent of a seal, smiling so brightly his eyes light up and his dimple pokes out, the way he always laughs for Louis. With a small shake of his head, curls flopping around, fond smile on his face, Harry opens the second Snap and - woah.

  
There's no caption this time, just a picture of Louis standing in front of a mirror wearing tight, black boxer briefs - it’s zoomed in, like Louis wanted to differentiate between this and the playfully topless picture he’d sent earlier. Harry swallows thickly, not exiting out of the picture like he knows he should if he wants any chance of not thinking about Louis fucking his mouth later. As the timer counts down to zero, Harry's eyes zoom in on Louis' crotch, vaguely outlined in his underwear, and it takes those remaining two seconds for Harry to realize that that was a bad idea.

  
Louis probably hadn't even meant to send him that, and Harry had just gaped at it, stunned into appreciative silence. Not that he’d been talking out loud anyway, but. Whatever. An accident, of course. He takes a deep breath, ignores the way his cock is half hard now (which is a little embarrassing, but Louis has always had a way of riling him up), opening up Snapchat. It's another minute before Harry finds the perfect face of confusion, opting to use a "see no evil" monkey emoji instead of words, because if he were to start typing, he'd end up saying something like "nice dick" or "please fuck me til I can't walk." Those might make things awkward, maybe.

  
Louis doesn't reply in one, two, even five minutes, and Harry feels tempted to do something about the uncomfortable stirring in his pants as he awaits a late night apology Snapchat from his bandmate, so he does what he always does: heads to the kitchen. He's got a dinner scheduled around nine pm with Kendall so his options are limited but there's enough in the small fridge to placate his growing hunger, and for as long as he's eating and watching Breaking Bad on AMC, he doesn't think about Louis and his misleading picture messages.

  
Except for then he finishes eating, washing up, and he still has four hours to go before meeting Kendall. Four hours to let the regret of not screencapping semi-nude Louis spread all over him, which would be like, bad. Friends don't screencap provocative, accidental Snapchats to think about while jacking off later. There's a rule, somewhere. Probably right next to the "don't send semi nudes to your friends" but Harry thinks he can forgive Louis for breaking that.  
It's another twenty minutes before Louis Snaps him again, and Harry's laying on the couch pretending like he's not jumping out of his seat to answer the message. Harry is discreet, goddamn it. A part of him says a silent prayer that this ends now, that Louis sends him something ridiculous to end this false hope that’s building in Harry’s heart.

  
But the part that was praying for Louis to continue won, apparently, if the five second picture clip of Louis with his hands down the front of his briefs is anything to go by. He even added a nice filter; Harry can appreciate his attempts at artistry. Harry also wants to appreciate Louis' dick but y'know. Baby steps. Harry taps at the screen, urging the picture to show up again, because that was not enough time at all. He could replay it but - Harry knows what Louis must be thinking, why he shortened the time; he's giving Harry an out, the opportunity to say "whoops! Didn't see that!"

  
Harry doesn't want that. In a stroke of brilliance, he decides the best way to urge Louis on is to reciprocate, because he's being so selfish, enjoying Louis' body in these photos without sending something in return. Frantically he sits up, shrugging his t-shirt off and lowering his pants slightly down his hips, adjusting his back against the couch, spreading his legs out before picking up his phone that had ended up on another cushion. Before he can really talk himself out of it, he bites at his lower lip, and click. The picture shows his torso, long and lean, covered with tattoos he may or may not regret, his full bottom lip caught between his teeth and just the hint of his V line, low enough that Louis might suspect Harry isn't wearing anything else.

  
Good.

  
He waits for the status to change from "delivered" to "opened" before he freaks out, running scenarios through his mind that either end with Louis being disgusted and leaving the band or worse. Anxiety creeps up on Harry and all he can think is that maybe he’d misinterpreted everything, because Louis has a girlfriend after all. A girlfriend who is very much not Harry Styles. Whatever.

  
It takes far too long for his phone to load the incoming picture - curse hotel room WiFi - but when it does, Harry’s at a complete loss for what to do. Louis must have liked what Harry sent, because he’s lowered his pants, sending Harry a nice, eight-second photograph of his cock, hard and curved against his stomach. The caption almost slips past Harry, but it reads “need I go on?” with a winky emoji, and _yesyesye_ s, of course he should go on. Only Harry’s not sure what this means for their friendship, for Louis and Eleanor, and he’s having a crisis of faith about whether he’s okay with being the metaphorical “other woman.” He thinks he is. Harry might be a bad person.

  
Apparently Louis is impatient, and Harry can’t blame him given his current state of sexual frustration, because he sends another photo not two minutes after Harry opened the last one. It’s not like the others, and Harry’s - thankful. It’s a picture of Louis’ face, soft blue eyes gazing softly at the camera, nervous smile playing on his lips, with the caption saying, “u ok?” He looks adorably hesitant, and it tugs at Harry’s heartstrings until he remembers exactly why Louis is asking that. Right, dick pics.

  
He doesn’t reply immediately, opting to relocate back to the bedroom. He grabs a snuggie from his mostly unpacked luggage in the corner of the room, walks over to the bed and throws the horrendous blanket onto the ground. He plops down on the mattress, smirks when he sees another notification from Louis, a bit dazed by how this day’s turning out. If anyone had tried to tell Harry that he’d be sexting Louis at 5:30 pm while he’s in LA and Louis is in the UK, well. He would have wanted to believe you.

  
Rather than open up the message from Louis, Harry settles in his bed, completely removing his off white Calvin Klein briefs, stroking himself to full hardness a bit carelessly, then dropping his hands to his thighs, not wanting to do anything without Louis, before doing anything else. It’s just - it’s not like Harry’s never thought about taking Louis apart with just his fingers, licking every inch of his skin, worshiping him the only way Harry knows how - it’s just that he never thought Louis could possibly feel the same, and this whole thing feels like a dream. One that he’s not willing to wake up from just yet, but a dream nonetheless.

  
Harry’s getting worked up now, the urge to just take hold of his cock and chase the feelings that he’s a bit desperate for growing. He usually uses his right hand but special circumstances call for special arrangements; it’s a little awkward when he tugs at his hardening dick with his left hand, but after changing angles up and speeding down a bit, he relaxes. Harry lets out these little whimpers against his will, embarrassed because nothing’s even happening, and he fumbles around to see if he’s left his phone in the living room of the suite before breathing a sigh of relief when he finds it underneath the snuggie. He grips his dick, thick and heavy in his hand, as he snaps the picture, adding a “like what you see?” with a cheerful winky face for good measure.

  
Harry presses the heel of his hand down as he strokes himself, flicking his wrist the way he knows he likes; it’s ridiculous, really, how eager he is for this, how loudly he moans when he focuses on the head of his dick, smearing precome all over, enjoying the way his whole body buzzes with pleasure -His phone buzzes rather loudly, reminding him that he’s not alone in this, that Louis is on the edge with him. It's too much and not enough at all.

 

Louis really fucking likes what he sees, if the way he’s muttering Harry’s name as he strokes his dick in the ten second video clip Harry struggles to try and replay is anything to go by. It's a lot wobbly and the lighting has darkened, but it's so clearly Louis getting off to Harry, which - that's the hottest thing Harry's ever seen in his life, so he quickly grabs at the base of his cock to try and stop himself from coming right now. He doesn't think he's ready for this to be over, and he doesn't want to get cum on his phone. Both are bad ideas, in Harry's mind.

  
The screen stays blank as Harry forgets to send anything in return, his eyes closed as he focuses on the mental image he’s got pressed against the inside of his eyelids of Louis’ dick. His mouth is practically watering with the desire to taste him, to do pretty much anything. Harry works himself harder, his touch growing rougher on the downstroke, wishing Louis’ hand was the one on him, that he was _here_ -

  
Harry’s phone starts ringing, Marimba echoing loudly throughout the room. He lets out a “ _fuck_ ” that sounds more like a moan than anything, scrambling to get himself in an appropriate enough condition to answer.  
His headphones are on the table next to his bed, conveniently, so he plugs those in and goes to answer the call (he’s already got the excuse for how out of breath he sounds, and he hopes to god no one questions him) when he sees that it’s a FaceTime call.

  
From Louis.

  
And well, okay. This is happening.

  
Louis’ voice rings in his ears as he slides his thumb across the screen again, spreading himself back out across the bed. Harry smiles, heart pounding in his chest, anxiety levels running high.

  
“Harry?” Louis’ voice is rough, and a little breathless. He sounds like Harry feels; overexcited, full of wanting. He could get used to that tone coming from Louis.

  
He fixes the camera so it shows most of his face, and he pouts a little when he can’t find a good enough angle to settle into. Louis’ camera is shaky, like he’s crawling all over his bed to try and align himself with Harry. It makes Harry smile, a bit sadly, because the distance between them is so great.

  
“Hey, Lou.” Louis’ blue eyes are looking at him a bit awed, and Harry looks at the tiny screen, taking in his flushed cheeks, damn curls sticking to his forehead, lips pink from where he’s been biting them. He smirks. “D’you want the camera to show my face or my cock?”

  
Louis’ eyes grow wide and Harry thinks he’s caught him off guard. He feels proud, almost. Louis pretends to think about it, not so subtly checking Harry out.

  
“Lay down, yeah?” Louis says finally, slowly like he’s trying to picture how this is going to work. “Aim the front camera down, so it’s like I can see your face and your body.” It’s brilliant.

  
Harry flashes a smile and gets into position, and it’s odd that he’s not gone soft, but that might have something to do with the way Louis is instructing him, like he’s going to tell him what to do and -

  
“I want to see your face.” Harry blurts out, blush creeping down his neck. “It’s a nice face.”

  
Louis rolls his eyes but can’t hide the smile that plays on his lips. “Well I want to come on your face, so. Can I?”

  
Harry whines at that, sinking back onto the mattress, imagining that Louis is the one pressing him down. He kicks the covers away with his feet, bouncing up a bit as he scoots towards the middle of the bed. Louis is moving too, but he’s sitting up against the headboard, his face drawn in concentration. The screen shows his arms, and Louis is still topless, light sheen of sweat highlighting the muscles of his arm. Presumably the arm that he’s using to wank himself off, which is like. Harry doesn’t really know what words are, can’t think of anything but how Louis can see him, and he wants to see Harry get himself off.

  
Best not disappoint then.

  
It’s not common for Harry to tease himself, but he thinks Louis might enjoy the way he flicks his nipples , pinches them until all he can do is let out a moan that sounds a lot like _Louis_.

  
Louis licks at his lips and Harry feels hot under his gaze. His fingers trail lightly around where his dick is splayed on his stomach, and it twitches when Louis lets out his own whimper.

  
It’s a blink and you’ll miss it sort of sound, but Harry’s entirely focused on Louis, so when the older boy’s arm movements intensify and he whispers to “ _touch yourself for me, baby_ ”, well. Harry’s not going to pick today to not listen to Louis.

His cock’s been dripping precome ever since he started teasing himself, and Harry knows that it’s not going to take long for him to finish, not with Louis staring at him like he’s something special, like he’s wanted -

  
“How d’you want me, Lou?” Harry spits out, tugging at himself roughly, too worked up to continue teasing. It feels fucking amazing, if he’s honest. It’s this mixture of Louis and pleasure that’s coursing through his veins, sending shocks down his spine every time he flicks his wrist or slows down enough to make himself whine, practically begging himself to speed up. And Louis just looks at him in awe, pupils blown. Harry can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this is more than two best friends watching each other wank. It has to be, right?

  
“Want you to come all over yourself, Haz.” Louis eventually replies, and his voice is lower than Harry’s ever heard it, drowned in arousal. Fuck, Harry isn’t going to make it out of this alive.

  
Harry closes his eyes because this is getting to be too much, and he just needs to come. He bites his lip and he’s pretty sure it’s still in the view of the camera, so he kind of exaggerates, alternating between chewing on his lower lip and licking; his strokes are more needy now, and his hips are bucking up as he fists himself.

  
All he can do is chase the feeling building deep inside him, little whispered encouragements from Louis pulling him along. It’s with one, two, three more swift tugs of his dick that he comes, a rough groan escaping his lips. He lays with his eyes closed for a few moments until Louis’ voice is harsh against his eardrums, his own orgasm washing over him.

  
Harry smiles when Louis scrunches his face up, changing camera angles to show Harry the own mess he’s got splashed all over his soft, tan, tummy.

  
He’s got no flannels near him and the next best option is the scratchy comforter he leaves on the floor at night anyway, so he wipes at his stomach and chest, making sure there’s no residue on his hand either. It’s awkward as he and Louis both clean up, silent and tense. Harry’s got no idea if he should hang up.

  
Harry sucks in a breath, eyes firmly fixed on his own body, away from the camera. “Is this goodbye now?”

  
Louis chuckles, but he doesn’t answer. Instead the screen goes dark and if it weren’t for the rustling of moving blankets and the groan Louis lets out at one point, Harry would think Louis hung up. When the picture comes back into focus, Louis is snuggled up in blankets, his arm holding the phone in front of him, a gleam in his eye that Harry’s never seen there before. He looks small and tired and the hole in Harry’s heart comes back, because he just misses this boy so much.

  
“When you coming home, babe?” He asks after another pause.

  
Harry settles himself in his bed, still sticky and exhausted, endless thoughts running through his head, but none of them really seem to matter. He’s waited for this moment for years, and now that it’s here it’s -

  
Perfect.

  
“Soon, I promise.” It’s a few short minutes before Louis falls asleep, and Harry follows, Louis’ soft snores lulling him to sleep.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Why did this take me so long to write 
> 
> Follow me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/brittastyleses) or [Tumblr](http://brittastyles.tumblr.com/)


End file.
